Firestorm
by Lyra Silvertongue1
Summary: " There was one other person I didn’t stop picking on... I had my own personal vendetta against her. I still hadn’t forgiven her, and I still hadn’t had my perfect revenge…"
1. Prologue

Dragon Fire 

Malfoy.

 What do you think when you see this name?

Power? Money? Influence?

Or is it dark arts? Evil? _Death eater?_

Malfoy 

 I wrote it again on a scrap of old notepaper in my typical scrawl.  It looked no different to my eyes; putting it down on paper couldn't change what I thought. 

 What everyone else thought…

I knew. I knew what they thought when they heard my father's name. _My name._

 When I was a kid, I thought it was the greatest. That was when I looked up to my father, wanted to be just like him. I thought he was the greatest man alive. 

 But even now, I still do. I want him to look at me and smile. I want to see in his eyes that he's proud of me; I want him to ruffle my hair and say 'Good work, son,' or 'I've always been proud of you.'

 But nothing I do is ever good enough. When Granger beat me in all of our exams, (You let that _mudblood _beat you!), or when he found me on the Hogwarts express after fourth year, all hexed an unable to move, (I can't believe you're _my_ son, letting those muggle loving fools… I can't even look at you! You're a disgrace to our family!)

 But I love him, because he's my father, and I know he loves me, because I am his son. I would do anything to make him proud of me. 

 And I know, just how much I resemble him. I know, because people tell me. And they tell him too. 

 Once I overheard a man speaking with him. I didn't know the man, but he was friendly. He smiled at me, and I grinned happily back. I was only four. 

 My father glanced over at me, and I saw his eyes roam disapprovingly over my rumpled sweater, and my soiled pants. He grabbed me roughly by the shoulder, and bade me to stand up. I did as he told me.

 The other man ruffled my hair and looked back at my father. "Your son is so much like you," he said, and I smiled, proud that this man had thought me like my father.

 But my father frowned. He wasn't pleased with this statement. "My son," he said coldly, "is nothing like me."

 I didn't think about his words much then. I was young, and I didn't understand fully what they meant. But I saw that my father didn't like what the man had said. He didn't think I was like him. I wasn't good enough to be like him. 

 And so it began. A never ending trail of attempts to try and please him, to make him say, that yes, Draco Malfoy is my son, and yes, I am proud of him. I never got what I wanted.

 The look in his eyes never softened when he looked at me, there was no warm smile on his lips. 

 But now I'm seventeen. 'So much older, wiser, and so much more knowledgeable.' That's the sort of motivational crap the teachers pour out as soon as you reach seventh year.

 Thirteen long years of trying, and I finally figured it out. My father is proud of me. He is proud of me because I am his son, his blood. I don't need to prove it. 

 But I want to. I want him to be proud of me for me, for what I've achieved. Not because of the part of my name that follows Draco.

 But now, I sit here staring at the scrap of paper on my table, I wonder why. I wonder why he is so proud of our name, when all it provokes in others is fear.

 I suppose I always knew this, even though I'm siting here now trying to figure out why I only fully realised last year.

 I remember that day, like it was yesterday. I was strutting along down the hallways of my beloved school, feeling as cheery as I usually was when the hallways reminded me of a Lockhart book sale, the pompous little git…

 Students were crammed to my left and right, mainly first years. God, it had been _six months_ already, didn't they know where they were going? But _no_, they had to cram up every hallway and corridor, bothering me with the stupidest questions. 

 I heard a group huddled to my left, discussing whether they should go left or right, or forward, or backwards, or diagonally… 

 _Hufflepuffs…_

They looked fearfully in my direction, and I knew immediately that they had met me before. I even heard one comment "Don't ask him, he's mean, he doesn't help. He told me to go…"

 The conversation faded from my hearing and I chuckled to myself. I remembered that girl well. Luckily they no longer tried to bother me anymore. At least they learned from experience. 

 "Excuse me?"

I turned around to see who had spoken. Hopefully not to me… But alas, just in front of me I saw a lousy little first year, round faced, with an annoying pair of spectacles perched on the tip of her puggy nose.

 I wondered briefly if Longbottom had a little sister I hadn't known about. Actually this kid was a cross between Longbottom and Granger. Longbottom and Granger… I'd never found an idea more hilarious. 

 "Could you show me the way to the dungeons?"

I looked at the girl with irritation. She wanted me to show her the way to the dungeons? Like I would help a first year!

 I pushed past her, intending to continue on my way to my next class, which happened to _be _in the dungeons, but the little podgy kid didn't know that.

 But before I could get away, I felt a tug on my robes. The little girl was persisting to annoy me, sort of like one of those pestering mosquitoes that just never go away. Sort of like Potter.

 "Please, can you show me?"

I scowled fiercely down at her and she visibly quailed. Now I was going to have to wash my robes, now that she had touched them with her grimy hands.

 "No," I snapped. "Get your filthy hands of my robe! It's new. I don't like first years," I leaned over, levelling my face to hers threateningly. "I don't like _you. _If you don't get your ugly face out of my sight, I swear I will do something that I won't regret." I dropped my voice ominously. "But you will."

 She let go off my robes as if they burned her hands. I straightened, satisfied that my job was done. She looked at me, and then her face crumpled in to tears. She turned her back and ran, covering her face with her hands. 

 I felt a tinge of remorse. I hadn't meant to make her _cry_. I just wanted to scare her enough so she'd stop bothering me. I noticed in her haste she had dropped her book bag. It was one of those ones so typical of first years. Large and bulky, those sorts of bags made the first years remind me of snails. 

 As I was staring at the bag, I didn't notice someone come up behind me until they were really close. I did however notice them quite a bit when they started yelling at me.

 "You're such a bastard, did you know that Malfoy?"

It was Weasley, in particular, the youngest Weasley, the _girl._

"Yes," I sneered. 

"Arrogant little prick!"

"Well," I said haughtily, "as much as I would love to stay and listen to you hurl insults, I have a potions lessons to go to."

She stopped suddenly, and stared at me, cocking her head to the left a little. Suddenly, she laughed. 

 I was confused. Why was she laughing? My confusion didn't last long.

"Oh, that is so like you, isn't it? You just couldn't be nice to her and show her, even if she was going to the same place."

 I felt guilty. I did. I knew I shouldn't have done it, I should've helped her, I shouldn'thave made her _cry_. So I didn't answer, I just stood there, looking stonily back at Weasley.

 She came closer, so close I could smell her perfume. She was shorter than me, but suddenly she seemed to tower over me. 

 "Why is it that you have to be so horrible? Is it just you, or is it because you're a _Malfoy_…?"

 I didn't like the way she said my name, drawing it out, as if there was something wrong with it. As if Malfoy indicated something bad.

 "At least I'm not the one who wears robes patched in a thousand different places."

That was a bad comeback. I admit it. I was feeling so strange. I almost felt ashamed. Ashamed of myself, ashamed of my name. 

 "Look, _Malfoy," _She accentuated my name again, "If wearing expensive robes means I have to make little girls cry, I'd rather stick to my own."

 I felt really uncomfortable, and I was tired of her implying there was something wrong with my last name, the way she said it like it was something so foul underneath her shoe. She was a Weasley! She had no right to act better than me!

 "Stop drawing out my last name when you speak! You're a Weasley! You have no right to speak to _me_ like that!"

 "So you think you're better than me?" She scoffed. Again she leaned in close to my face, so that our noses were inches apart. "You think people respect your name? You're right, they do. Because they know how close your father is with You Know Who! And you, _Malfoy,_ everyone knows what you're going to become. Just like all _Malfoy's_, being a death-eater runs in the family, doesn't it?"

 I couldn't deny what she was saying. Yes, I knew my father was a death-eater, and I knew that after my seventh year, I would be one too. So what could I say? I wasn't ashamed of my becoming a death-eater. I _wanted_ to be a death-eater. My father would be proud of me, and I could be proud of myself, for being like my father, for living up to his name. 

 But what was that name? From the look in Weasley's eyes, she didn't think much of it. Wasn't it supposed to command respect?

 People weren't supposed to think _death-eater_. They weren't supposed to think badly of our name.

  I don't know why it hit me then, the event was so insignificant, it was just a replay of so many others. I always thought that when people hated me, they hated me because I was _me_, not because my name was Malfoy. 

 They did, I suppose, hate me for me, but partly because my name was Malfoy. 'First impressions count,' my father once told me, before we went to meet his circle of friends, namely, the Death-eaters. 

 But no matter how charming, or polite I was, it wouldn't have mattered. I had already made my first impression, as soon as they heard my name, Draco _Malfoy; _they knew they had to treat me with respect. 

 But when other people heard it, they immediately thought of connections to the Dark Lord, dark arts, and death-eater.

 I had never thought that before, and I realised, all the courtesy they paid me, was either out of fear of my father, or just because they were too polite to say what they were really thinking.

 So what was it that they were really thinking? Draco Malfoy, no good son of a death-eater? Who know? I sure didn't.

 So feeling a bit like an idiot, I slowly picked up the first years bag and handed it over to Weasley. She had embarrassed me enough, and really, I just wanted to get away and be alone for a while. She would get her own back later in double. 

 She looked at me strangely, but accepted the bag, glared at me, then walked off. 

 So, I tried being a bit nicer. No, I didn't become a do-gooder like Potty-Head and his friends, but I definitely didn't want a repeat of that day. I didn't want some goody-goody Gryffindor raging at me for making some kid cry, and really, I didn't want to make _another_ kid cry.  

 It really was funny watching the shock on people's faces when they realised I wasn't going to bother to go out of my way to insult them. Especially Longbottom, the poor blithering git was standing in front of me, when he really gave a great set-up. Something about him being a squib or something. What could I have said? Yes, Longbottom, you really are a squib'?

 That comment would've been plain pitiable, not to mention embarrassing. 

So I didn't say anything, and he sort of turned around and stared at me fearfully, like I was going to pull out my wand, and 'Avada Kedavra' him or something.

 The shock on his face when nothing came out of my mouth was so pathetic it was almost funny. Eventually though, I got tired of him staring at me, and patiently, though rather sneeringly, I said, "I know I'm beautiful Longbottom, but I'd rather if you stop gawking."

 He immediately flushed and his head snapped back around, but he did seem sort of appeased by my comment. Maybe his little world hadn't stopped spinning after all…

  So I could lay off everyone, except of course, Wonder-boy and his little friends. They were just too irritating to stop picking on, not to mention, Granger and Weasley finally hooked up, and that was too good of material to ignore.

 There was one other person I didn't stop picking on. Ginny Weasley. I had my own personal vendetta against her. I still hadn't forgiven her, and I still hadn't had my perfect revenge… 

 Ok, I just started that one straightaway… If you don't know what this is going end up, take a guess, and for those of you who can't bother, its D/G. If you don't review, I don't mind… just remember it when everyone you know starts dying in terrible and mysterious ways…

                                                                                                 ~ Lyra ~

 And I welcome any constructive criticism…

And tell me if you think Draco's becoming too nice… cause we wouldn't want that now, would we?


	2. Chapter One

** Firestorm**

** Chapter One**

 Plate after plate, it never ceased to amaze me just how much food could disappear down into the bottomless depths that Vincent and Greg called their stomachs. I could watch them forever, just to see whether they would stop once they had reached their limit. Greg, who seemed satisfied with the amount he had packed in for one morning, settled back in his chair, one hand placed on his large stomach, and let out a satisfied belch. Or maybe not.  

 I flinched, and turned away, trying to elude the looks of disgust and revulsion that were being headed in our direction. Why I still kept his company I didn't know. I inched my chair to my left, trying to ignore a further belch released into the world by Vincent. 

 They weren't all that bad…I suppose… They were loyal, and… and they were dependent and they could be smart occasionally.

 And Snape was secretly in love with Potter. 

 Now wouldn't that be interesting?

 My gaze travelled over to a place where it so often resided, on to the face of one recognised by so many, the face that didn't deserve so much recognition. Harry Potter. Who else? And next to him, one bratty redheaded Weasel, who found it her business to pry into mine. From what it looked like, she was attempting to engage him in conversation, rather unsuccessfully I might add. Still not over her schoolgirl crush. No surprise there. People like the Weasley girl _liked_ being the tag-along; they _liked_ being cast aside as soon as something better came along. I mean; you just had to look at her brother to see the logic. I didn't understand; I didn't want to try. It was just another number on the list of reasons as to why Weasleys were so pathetic. 

 I sat back into my chair, settling my languid stare upon the youngest Weasley, waiting to see how long it would take her to notice me. Not too long, it seems, as first she swatted around her face, the presence of my gaze like a bothersome bug, and then, hesitantly, almost in fear, turning her face towards me. I watched her from under half-lidded eyelids, curving my mouth into lazy smile. I knew from experience, that smile would have more effect than a sneer and a scowl put together.  

 The Weasley girl flushed, cheeks reddening to the likeness of a ripe tomato. The frightened look on her face didn't last long. As the colour faded from her cheeks, she scowled at me, turning away determinedly, pointedly ignoring me for the rest of the meal. 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 "Weasley." 

 The shock of being addressed directly by me (well, that and a helpful little nudge from my wand) was enough to make her drop her books and inkbottle on to the floor in front of her feet. The bottle landed directly on top of her books, black ink pooling on and around the broken shards of glass, soaking into her parchments. 

 A smile flitted across my lips, amusement and satisfaction felt in a job well done. "Maybe you should invest in an unbreakable charm, Weasley. I'm amazed someone hasn't even bothered to suggest it yet."

 The youngest Weasley didn't seem to see the humour in the situation. Pity for her, really. It's important to look on the lighter side of things once in awhile, I've learnt, otherwise you just might find yourself turning into a enraged banshee, rather like the one in front of me, who was about to hurl her book bag at my face. Luckily my quick reflexes saved me, as I managed to grab the bag just seconds before it smashed into my face, ruining my perfect nose. 

 "Temper, temper Weasley. You should save that fire for somewhere else." I lowered my voice suggestively, taking one large step over the scattered books, placing me directly in front of her. A flash of fear passed across her eyes, disappearing as quickly as it came. She narrowed her eyes, anger heightening the colour on her cheeks. "You get away from me, Malfoy," she whispered fiercely, "Stay away from me."

 "Why would I want to do that?" I asked, as if it were the last possible thing I would want to do. As I stepped closer, and further invaded her personal space, she stumbled back, breath catching in her throat as she backed painfully against a wall. The wall protested in response, but neither of us took any notice. Watching her, cornered and helpless, and idea began to form in my mind. So simple. So perfect. It was brilliant, a stroke of genius, if maybe, slightly unoriginal. 

 Using my advantage in height and strength, I pressed her up against the wall, tracing the line of her jaw with one finger. She shuddered, and tried to back away, but in vain. This was perfect. Like killing two Red Caps with one curse. 

 "You know," I paused, searching desperately in my mind for her real name, all I'd ever heard her be called was Ginny. Oh well. "I've been thinking about you a lot." Her eyes widened, she made a move as if to slap me. She would've succeeded had I not pinned her arms down against the wall. "And every time I think of you, I want to do this…" I trailed off, dropping my head a tiny bit closer. 

 She obviously knew what was coming next, because she struggled and began to scream, but the sound was cut off by my lips. Her lips were soft and warm, and so obviously inexperienced. Briefly I wondered whether it was her first. It probably was; she had probably been saving it for Potter. It gave me a nasty sort of joy to have stolen something that had been meant for him. 

 She wrenched away, gasping for breath. She was blushing furiously, but whether it was because of embarrassment or anger I couldn't tell. Most probably it was the latter. Her hand flew up and gave me a good slap across the face. Yes, it was definitely the latter. I rubbed my stinging cheek and tried to look wounded. I don't think it worked.

 She scrambled out of my grip, hands trembling as she gathered up her fallen things. "What?' I asked, amused. "Didn't you like that?" 

 "Go away, Malfoy." She said in a clipped sort of voice. "Leave me alone."

 "Is that what you say when someone gives you your first kiss?" I scolded, "I would hope you'd be more grateful in the future." I paused, getting no reaction. "Was it your first kiss?" I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me. 

 She said nothing, stuffing her books firmly into her pack. I knew there were many spells to get rid of the spilt ink and renew the stained parchments, but I suspected she was too stubborn and too proud to perform them in front of me. "Was it?" I asked again.

 She stood up, using her wand to elevate the shards of glass and dump them in the rubbish bin down the hall. She didn't look at me, but as she walked past she said, "If you must know, yes." I felt my ego jump up and down in a gleeful victory dance. That was one I had over Weasley and Potter. But then, just before she disappeared down the stairwell, she turned back to me and said in this highly conceited tone, "and I hope my next one is _a lot_ better than _that_." 

 My ego came to a crashing halt. 

 Stupid cow.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Arithmancy. Possibly the most boring subject on the face of this planet. Why do I do it then? I don't know. Ask me in ten years and I might be able to give you an answer then. You can tell how good a class is by looking at the number of students in it. Either that or how much of a bludge it is. In this case, it is _not _a bludge. It is _hard_. There were only eight people in our class. Eight stupid people, including me. But not intellectually, just as in stupid. Why? Because we're in this class. 

 There are three Slytherins, me (of course), Blaise, and Morag. People feel sorry for me because I have my name (I don't know why…) but this girl's got the worst. Morag McDougal. How she got into Slytherin with a name like _that_, I don't know. You would think she'd be laughed out of the house. But she's definitely Slytherin in soul. 

 Then there are three Ravenclaws; Boot, Patil (Padma that is), and Turpin. One Hufflepuff; Moon, (thank the Lord), and one Gryffindor (even more thank the Lord,) and though this Gryffindor happened to be Granger, at least she didn't bother me. Sometimes I bothered her, but it wasn't so much fun without Potty and Weasel. 

 Finally it was over. The torture was over. I remained slumped in my chair, watching everyone else rush to pack up their books and scurry out of the classroom. They reminded me of bees, or ants. Mindless zombies, slaving away to do the bidding of a superior being. 

 Well, maybe not. But I could see the likeness. 

 I felt a presence standing by my desk, but couldn't be bothered to look up. I took a guess, most probably it was Blaise; he probably wanted a favour. 

 "Draco?"

 I lifted my head up, eyeing him wearily. "What do you want?"

 "Want?" His brow crinkled in confusion. "I don't _want _anything." He repositioned the books he was holding so that they sat more comfortably against his arm. "I was just waiting for you."

 "Why?" I admit, I was being a bit interrogative, but Slytherins never did anything for nothing, so my reasoning told me that there had to be something he wanted.

 "Do I have to have a reason?" He asked in exasperation. 

 I sat up, and looked at him. Finally I nodded. "Yes."

 "Okay, I do." He admitted. Finally. "But there's going to be people coming in, so let's go somewhere else. I'll ask you then."

 "I've got to go to the owlery."

 He nodded and I stood up, slipping my things into my bag. Was it just me, or did he look a little nervous? Oh well, I was going to find out soon anyway. We stepped out the room, and walked to the owlery. The whole way he seemed to be in a nervous, fidgety silence. I glanced around to see whether there was anyone in there. No one. Strange. I shrugged, and searched the perches for a strong looking owl. My parcel was a bit heavy. Blaise sort of followed me, silent as ever. It wasn't that unusual I suppose, he was always sort of quiet. 

 "Okay, it's like this." He began, twisting his hands. "Well my parents are somewhat rich right?"

 "Somewhat, yes." I drawled, agreeing. 'Somewhat' didn't quite cover it. Blaise's family was perhaps the wealthiest I knew. Far more so than mine, or Pansy's for that matter. 

 "Well you know the Baddocks? Clara Baddock? In sixth year? The one with the dark red hair and-" 

 "Yes, I know." I interrupted tersely. He was babbling, and I hate hearing Slytherins babble. It's a sign of weakness. 

 "Well her parents aren't that rich." 

 Well that was true. Their manor was only half the size of ours, and they only had _one _house-elf_._ We had three, I thought darkly, until Potter came along and freed one. Bloody idiot. 

 "So her parents decided to arrange a marriage, into our family! To me!"  Blaise wailed miserably. 

 "And you want my help, why?" I really had to laugh at the look on his face. It was hilarious. But too bad for him. All that money. Not that Clara was bad looking. I grimaced, seeing that he was knotting his hands again. It really annoyed me. "Stop it." I snapped, slapping his hands apart.

 He ignored me. "Will you help me?"

 I stared at him suspiciously. "What do you want me to do?" 

 "I need you to-"

_ "_Brilliant!" I exclaimed, cutting him off. I had just found the perfect owl, possibly the fattest one in the whole place, but strong nonetheless. "Go on," I prodded, when he didn't say anything. 

 "I need you to help me get out of it." He looked at me expectantly. 

 I finished tying the parcel securely to the owl's leg, smirking amusedly as it tried to fly, stumbling around at first as if it was drunk. If an owl can glare, I would swear that that owl was glaring daggers at me. Finally it seemed to right itself, and flew off rather jerkily into the evening sky. 

 "Well?" Blaise prodded my ribs. 

 "How?" I asked, knowing that the saying 'Where there's a will there's a way,' was something stupid Gryffindors had probably thought up. It was rarely ever true. Sometimes there was no way even with the strongest will, and more often there was a damn good way without much will at all. That was preferred.

 "I don't know. I was hoping you'd think of something." I looked him in the eye. It was true. He really had been hoping I'd think of something. It was flattering, really.

 "I can try." I paused, remembering something I'd heard of once. "You could break it off with a charm. But then…" I shook my head, "that only works if the marriage is sealed. And the charm is ridiculously complex."

 I trod through the smattering of bird-poo, careful not to get any on my _very_ expensive shoes. "Or…" I said slowly, turning around to face Blaise, "you could disgust her family with your infidelity. That's good," I smirked, "and fun too."

 "I don't want to ruin my reputation." He objected.

 "_What_ reputation?" By now we were out of the owlery, and I began to walk backwards. 

 He scowled at me. "Don't be an idiot."

 "Alright then," I changed my suggestion, "disgust her with your infidelity."

 "I don't want-" he started, braking off to grab my robes and try to prevent me from crashing into something, or rather, _someone_. Too late. I smashed straight into them, and they went flying. My foot caught on a flap of their robes, and I spun on my other heel, just barely saving myself from tumbling over and making an idiot out of myself. 

 Unfortunately, the other person didn't have my luck. They scrambled to their feet, brushing hair out of their eyes. Very _red_ hair, I might add. The very person I did not want to see, and of course she had to come stumbling into my path.

 Damn. 

** I can only say three things. Read, enjoy, review! Thanks guys  ~Lyra**

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